


Love Talk

by reginleiv



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, No established relationship, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, We Die Like Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginleiv/pseuds/reginleiv
Summary: Is there anything better than spending the rest of the day all cuddled up with your most favorite troll? No, you don't think so.
Relationships: Gamzee Makara/Reader
Kudos: 77





	Love Talk

**Author's Note:**

> guess whos emergin into this fandom in 2020
> 
> also crossposted to my writing blog: **yanderehs.tumblr.com**!(send requests if you like!)

In all the years you’ve known him, he’s always been a little lazy. Lax and careless, preferring to blend in with the shadows instead of taking the lead. More often than not, he’d choose to lie down on the bed and do nothing, brushing off your concerns with simple excuses like how everything could just wait until he’s gotten enough time, or his favorite—later, when he’s not busy relaxing.

Most of the time you find yourself doing every little thing in the house: washing the laundry, preparing the meals, and arranging the beds. Almost like a mother, or a maid. Or both. But it isn’t as if you could help it, anyway; the guy didn’t just have it in his bone to look after himself or to even clean his surroundings. And besides, you have to admit that the rewards make everything worth it.

It is just another one of those days. The moment you open the door and step into your apartment, you could practically sense it, feel it all around you. It hangs around the air: the mess, the dirt, the filth, lingering for far too long that you could practically smell it, taste it on the tip of your tongue. The smell of leftover pizza, left to rot in the kitchen sink, permeates your nose, among other unpleasant smells.

You cover your nose, stop yourself from inhaling any more of this smell. In the semi-darkness, you search for a familiar face, narrowing your eyes into a squint. How was he able to tolerate being on his own for more than a few days?

You spot him quickly enough, without much difficulty. Bright colored horns poking out from behind the couch he’s sitting on, revealing his location. You call his name but receive no response. Eh, not an unusual thing. He spends most of the day sleeping, anyway, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if that’s exactly what he’s doing now. 

Shrugging, you step farther into the room, cursing when you nearly trip over a pile of clothes blocking your way. Bending down to pick them up, you shove them all in your arms, walking carefully around the house as the mountain of dirty clothes pile up in your arms.

Oh, well, at least you don’t have to think about what to do next.

It’s a miracle that you don’t trip on your way to the laundry room, and it’s even more miraculous that the washer did not break trying to clean up all the stains in his clothes. You stand there and wait, hum a song to yourself as you wait for the timer to reach zero. Just another one of your usual activities in your mundane life. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets, snaps you out of your thoughts. Quiet, and barely audible in the silence. You look up and find him standing in the doorway, staring at you with an almost sleepy expression. “Since when did you get home?”

“A few hours ago,” you reply, glancing briefly at the wall clock to confirm your suspicions. “You were peacefully asleep so I didn’t want to wake you.” And cute, is what you want to add, but surely he must have known that already with you practically drowning him with your attention every single day.

He nods, then raises a hand to cover his yawn. “You should’ve,” he says, voice quiet, exhausted. Did he have a hard time sleeping last night? “We could have done something chill together.”

You stare at him for the longest time, take as much of him in as you can. Even from a simple glance, you could tell that he’s an absolute mess, but now that you could see him this close, you could tell that he looks much worse than he seems to be. His hair is all tangled now, matted and frizzy, completely untouched since the last time you’d been home from work and urged him to bath.

You move a little closer toward him, sniffing him all over and frowning. You’re right, of course; it has definitely been a while since he’s had a bath. You could practically smell it all over him: the sweat and the musk, clinging on to his skin that it’s almost a part of him.

“You need a bath,” you say. He shakes his head, refuses, tells you that he has something else to do. “Too early for that,” he replies with a yawn, and from the way his eyes seem to close on their own, you could tell how badly he wants to lie back down on the bed and sleep.

“No can do,” you say, your voice steady and your words firm, making no room for protests. “You stink.”

He frowns at you, displeased, though you merely ignore him, moving to usher him out of the room. “Come on,” you say, placing a hand on his back as you guide him toward the bathroom. “Let’s give you a bath.”

His frown deepens but he does not protest, choosing instead to follow you in silence.

It is easy enough to prepare the bath. Nothing too hot, nothing too cold—warm enough just to make sure he’s comfortable. You gesture for him to get in, and at your silent command, he does, slipping off his shirt and sliding into the tub, slow and uncertain.

He doesn’t relax too easily the way you want him to, still not used to the idea of human baths. And so you make sure to be extra careful, gentle with your actions, running your hands through his matted hair and smiling when you see him gradually relaxing, closing his eyes and sinking further into the waters, leaning into your touch as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

He is silent the whole ordeal, refusing to make small talk or utter something out of the ordinary. Aside from the occasional sighs that spill out of his lips, there is only the swish of the water as you lather his body with soap. You’ve always loved shampooing his hair, though you would never admit it out loud to anyone but yourself. It’s soft and fluffy under your hands, smooth and silky as you run your fingers through the strands. Plus, you can’t just deny how adorable it is to have him underneath you, purring like a cat, content and comfortable, even if he’d never admit to that out loud.

You’re careful to wash him, gentle enough not to startle him with your hands as you move to rinse him. From his hair down to the tips of his toes, you make sure he’s all clean and washed, the stench of last week’s activities rinsed out of his skin.

And when you’re finally done, you wrap him up in a towel, pat him dry all over before dressing him up in one of his outfits: loose shirt and baggy pants, soft and fluffy enough to his liking.

And again like a cat, he seems even more exhausted now after taking a bath, no matter how much needed it is. He’s silent the whole time, yawning over and over as you walk him back toward your room, the only place in this entire apartment not littered with junk of all sizes.

You watch him with a smile as he quickly dives into the bed, easily settling his head down on the pillows. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you pull the covers up to his chin, leaning a little closer to plant a kiss against his cheek. “Go get some rest,” you say softly, your words almost like a whisper. “I’ll clean the apartment while you do.”

He doesn’t give you a reply, only another inconcealable yawn, and you laugh a little, pulling away to wish him another good rest. You turn away from him, ready to head out of the room, but a quick tug at your sleeve is enough to make you turn back to face him. You stare at him, curious, wondering if there’s something else he needs from you. But he doesn’t utter a word, only shakes his head and shifts a little on the bed, as though he’s trying to make room for more.

You blink at him a few times, suddenly confused. What is he trying to say? But he only grumbles in annoyance, murmurs a single word in response, low and quiet you almost couldn’t hear it. “Sleep.”

He wants to sleep? Or does he want you to sleep with him? You try and think about what he means, turn his response over and over your mind, but stop. There’s another tug at your sleeve, impatient. So he does want you to join him. You bite your lip, murmur a gentle protest. “But if I sleep now, who will clean the house?”

You cringe at the memory of all the unwashed pots and plates on the sink, knowing that they’re already all being feasted on by maggots and flies as you stand here and speak. But he doesn’t let you go, merely tugs at your sleeve again before pulling you with a strength you didn’t even know he possessed. You land beside him with a startled grunt, surprised by how quickly it all happened that you didn’t even have the time to react.

He does not give you time to escape; almost instantly, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close, nuzzling his head into your chest and sighing. And… is he purring? “Sleep now, clean later.”

He presses his ears against your chest, closes his eyes and lets your heartbeat lull him gently into sleep. One beat, two beats, three; with the steady humming of your heart, it does not take him long to slip into the land of dreams. And yet with his arms still around you, you cannot find a way to slip away and escape.

You take a moment to stare at him once more: eyes closed, face relaxed and devoid of its usual absent expression. He looks so peaceful like this, so content and so comfortable that you couldn’t help but smile. From beside you, you could hear the sound of his breathing, soft and quiet like a secret melody, yours to listen and cherish.

You smile softly to yourself, feeling your body relax against him. Oh, well, you suppose it doesn’t hurt to sleep in every once in a while. And with that thought in mind, you close your eyes and let the sound of his breathing lull you into oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> if you like, consider checking out my writing blog: **yanderehs.tumblr.com**! i take requests and ideas, and also dont bite!


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